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“Aaaand there he is, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, like I’m a carnival barker enticing people to come look at a mythical monster. “The biggest asshole I know. A total killjoy who sees the worst in everyone he meets.” I shake my head sarcastically. “Don’t ever change, Luke. I’d die from the shock.”
“I need to make a phone call,” he says stiffly, and strides off into traffic.
Because it’s him, the cars screech to a halt to let him pass. Even New York traffic knows not to mess with Luke Dewinter.
For a second, I wonder if I went too far with that comment about him being the biggest asshole I know. I never say anything that mean to anyone. But after all these years, Luke’s pessimism still manages to get under my skin, and bring out the worst in me.
Every day, the world falls at his feet. What’s he got to be so bitter about?
The last time I saw Luke, it was at my brother’s engagement party. I was crying because of the happy romance of it all. Luke handed me a tissue and told me to stop crying, since there was no way Cooper and his new fiancée were actually going to make it to the altar. I’d called him heartless.
It’s only now that I’m thinking about it that I realize Luke was actually right about my brother’s engagement. They’d parted as friends a month before the wedding.
I shake my head, trying to put Luke Dewinter out of my mind as I hurry to the restaurant.
I’ve got a business meeting to get to. And the last thing I need is teenage fantasies of my older brother’s best friend clogging up my brain.
* * *
The restaurant is a chic,dimly lit Italian place with vintage tiled floors and the scent of fresh basil in the air. Sarah waves me over to a table in the corner. She’s dressed in a yellow sweater that pops against her light brown skin, and her thick black hair is scooped up in a flawless chignon.
As I get closer, I realize she’s already halfway through a glass of white wine.
I frown. Sarah doesn’t drink at business lunches unless she’s nervous.
For a panicked second, I wonder if she’s dropping me as a client. Any other agent would. My first novel, a tragic love story about a magazine journalist who falls for the subject of one of her pieces, failed to catch the attention of a single publisher. The rejections were depressing, but bearable, when I had a day job working at a glossy lifestyle magazine. But since the magazine closed a month ago, I’ve been completely unable to commit to an idea for my second novel. Everything I write seems terrible.
Sarah’s my best friend, but even she must have reached her limits with my indecision.
I sit down. “Sorry I’m late.”
Sarah waves her hand. “That’s ok. He is too.”
I blink. “He?”
Sarah leans forward. “I think I know why you have writer’s block on your second book. You feel stressed and insecure about not having a job, and it’s blocking your creativity.”
“That’s...entirely possible,” I admit. Sarah’s already ordered bread for the table. I take a piece of fresh bread and dip it in olive oil. “You said you had a project for me?”
Sarah nods eagerly. “A high-profile corporate type needs a writer to help him write his autobiography. It would be a bit of a rush job—they’re behind schedule because he hasn’t liked any of his prior writers. But you’re so good at interviewing people.”
It’s true. I can get anyone to open up, no matter how prickly.
I chew my bread thoughtfully. “What’s the deadline?”
“Two months from now,” she said.
“Two months,” I choke. “That’s impossible.”
“The money is really good,” Sarah reminds me. “Like really, really good. Plus, you’d impress a lot of important people in the industry. It would raise your profile, which could help me sell your next book.”
I think it over. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” she says brightly. “You just need to impress him when he joins us for lunch in...” she checks the statement gold watch on her wrist. “Two minutes.”
“Wait. This is a job interview?” I panic. “Sarah, I’m not prepared. I haven’t had a chance to research him. My shirt is covered in coffee.”
“I told you to dress nice,” Sarah said mildly.
